Chapter of the Raven
by Nuit Songeur
Summary: Strange things are happening in Gold Crown Town. Characters are returning as everyone bends to the will of an ominous yet all too familiar outline.  But whose quill is it this time that's made Duck into someone cold and emotionless?
1. Those that don black

**A/N:** The long-awaited "Chapter of the Raven." My own version of a would-be third season. I'd like to ask any future readers of this to bear with me.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Princess Tutu.

**Warnings:** Spoilerish, pairing references. Also, please excuse any typos.

* * *

**Chapter of the Raven  
**_AKT 1: Those that don black  
_By: Nuit Songeur

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a woman who died. Though, whether it was a physical death or a death of her spirit was difficult to determine. The woman was loved dearly by everyone, with her kind and charismatic disposition. She was especially adored by one man. A man who found it to be an arduous task to trust people and somehow managed to place his trust within the beloved girl. But, shortly thereafter, the girl vanished, disappearing from him, their friends, the world, and- ultimately- the man's heart. Then, when it seemed that all hope was lost and the man thought himself to be doomed to a life of bitterness and despair, a small shred of light appeared in the man's life, offering to bring the girl back to him. The man hastily accepted without question. However, did the light come from a pure source? Or was it, in fact, the result of the deepest and blackest of shadows?_

* * *

In a dark alcove where time freezes and stories are nothing more than a whisper in the wind, their characters limp and lifeless as puppets without their master's strings, a young story-weaver stood on his unsteady feet, scanning the darkness for any hint to where he was or why he was there. His green eyes caught not so much as a sign and panic started seizing his chest.

"Hello?" he bellowed out to the darkness only to hear his voice echo back to greet his ears. He waited, hoping something would happen, hoping for some sort of response. Anything. An answer, a question, an absolution, a mystery. Anything at all. Just something. But there was nothing and because of this lack of something, his breathing spiked and transformed into labored pants.

"Hello?" he called again, becoming more desperate. He lifted a foot and slowly took an uncertain step toward the direction he was facing. When his foot made contact with the ground, he was met with a hollow thud that resounded throughout the blackness. The sound continued, growing louder and more ominous. He took in a sharp breath as the resonating thud grew into rumbling and then into a series of metallic clicks that sounded like large gears shifting and turning. The story-weaver whipped his head around to catch even a small glimpse of what was going on.

Finally, after a moment, or a minute, or even an hour (for time was not measured here) of anxiously glancing around, a sharp wind whistled from in front of him but, nothing was visible until after the wind subsided and a faint purple glow emanated from a pale, feminine figure that gracefully pirouetted toward him with slow, careful motions. The story-weaver gazed upon the figure, taking note that the violet glow illuminated a feathery black tutu the figure wore, a familiar tutu. And a familiar ballerina. He gasped when she drifted to a stop a few feet in front of him, for there was no mistaking her identity now.

"Rue…" he whispered, voice trailing throughout the darkness. But he stopped himself almost as instantly as he uttered the name. This was certainly the girl he had known when studying ballet, the girl that endured the tragic plots of Drosselmeyer's story with him but yet, there was a threatening air about her. An air that was both all too alien and familiar at the same time. The girl gave a small, light malignant chuckle.

"No," the story-weaver said. "It isn't. It can't be… Kraehe?" She chuckled again, louder this time, confirming what he had just suggested. She was Kraehe.

"Why it is, Fakir," she told him. "Why do you seem so surprised? You have seen me before, no?" She spoke to him with the sweet and condescending edge he so easily remembered of her.

"But… but when I last saw you… you left with Mytho… you were still Rue." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I am Rue. And I am Kraehe. They are one in the same." She narrowed her eyes at him cautiously. "Why do you act as though my alter ego is evil? Just because I don the color black?"

"No! That's not it at all and you very well know it!" Fakir snapped, raising his own voice. Kraehe pouted, pursing her lips at him.

"Now, what need is there to yell? You're among a friend Fakir. Surely you remember our last encounter." Fakir _did_ remember. It was after they had defeated the Raven and Rue left with Mytho to go back into the story as his princess. But why was she here? Why was _he_ here? And where could this "here" possibly be?

"What's going on? Where are we?" he demanded of her, trying to keep his voice even. She ignored the subtle hint of rage in his tone and advanced toward him slowly, talking, and moving her hands in rhythm to what she was saying.

"We are at the place where time does not move. Where stories and their outlines do not interfere and where 'life' and 'death' have no meaning. Here, mortality becomes immortality and immortality is, simply, nothingness."

"That doesn't explain anything, Kraehe!" he said, becoming more impatient. She stopped her advancing and began circling around him, as if she were the predator and he were her prey.

"What defines good and evil, Fakir? Some higher force? An author? What? In Drosselmeyer's story, his emblem for evil was that of a raven. A bird that presents the color black and signifies death. You call me Kraehe, a crow. But, in truth, I was not part of the original story. I was a member of reality until the story intermingled with reality. I do not belong in _The Prince and the Raven_. And what about you, Fakir? You thought you were the reincarnation of the knight, doomed for death. Your birthmark was a constant reminder of that. But what actually occurred? You did not die so therefore, you could not be the knight. No, you were but a descendant of Drosselmeyer with only the power to write and move the story in a more suitable direction. But even then, you were controlled by Drosselmeyer's pen. So what are you now, Fakir? Tell me. Are you a knight, a writer or- better yet- just another character? Hmm?"

"What… what are you saying?" Fakir stammered, his face growing hot and his fists shaking with his anger and frustration. Kraehe ignored the evidence of his temper and continued.

"I wonder… if you were a character, would you be the hero or villain of your story." Kraehe stopped her crow circling just in front of him. She reached up and combed a lock of his dark hair between two fingers. She was close enough to Fakir that he could smell the floral scent of lilac wafting from her skin. The smell, intoxicating, filled his nostrils and left him standing there frozen and stunned. She inhaled herself, taking a deep breath, and let out a small sigh.

"The color of your hair is black, the color of raven feathers- the symbol for all that is evil, apparently." Upon hearing her words, Fakir instantly snapped out of his stupefied gaze.

"What?" he hissed. "Are you saying that because of the color of my hair, I'm evil?" Kraehe shrugged, releasing the lock of his hair, and lowered her hand down to his face, her long, eggplant-colored fingernails trailing the shape of his cheekbones.

"It seems to be how you classify me as. But do not fret, Fakir. We cannot help who we are. The two of us are born the way we are, destined for the path chosen for us—" Fakir instantly cut her off by seizing the wrist that was connected to the hand stroking his face and held it away from him, as if it were an object that reeked of a rotten stench.

"I choose my own destiny," he told her in a soft voice that only matched for his irritation. She just smirked at his annoyance.

"Is that so?" she asked, again condescending.

"Yes," he answered, keeping his voice low.

"Then you chose to be evil?" Her voice was sweet and innocent enough but it caused him to emit a dangerous, guttural growl as he lifted her wrist higher into the air, forcing her face to come closer to his. He might have been causing her pain as she did little success to hide a sharp gasp escaping her clenched teeth.

"I… am… _not_… evil!" He spoke each word slowly, enunciating the syllables as best his gravelly voice would allow him. Kraehe allowed her pained expression to return placid.

"If you say so," she said simply. "How is it that you define evil? Someone who hurts others? Someone who acts selfishly? Someone who does not help a greater good? Or is it all gray area, Fakir?" Fakir's nostrils flared as his temper continued rising.

"I know not of what you speak, Kraehe. Perhaps it would do you better to tell me why we're here." As if to prove his point, he tightened the grip on her wrist. Kraehe grimaced in response but still gave a strained chuckled, constricted slightly by the pain he was causing her.

"Someone who hurts others then, is it? For your own selfish reasons. You are no better than Drosselmeyer himself. Surely you are one of his blood." Unable to tolerate her words any longer, Fakir relinquished his grip on Kraehe, tossing her to the ground with a disgusted sigh. She stayed there, in her heap, for a moment and did nothing but laugh, an evil, cackling sound that sent shivers down Fakir's spine.

"What is it?" he barked. "Why do you laugh?" She lifted only her face to stare at him.

"Watch as it unfolds, Fakir. As a new story takes place. A story where the two of us belong. Along with a few additional characters: Mytho and Duck." Fakir started at the second name.

"What?" he gasped. She smirked.

"Yes, you heard me correctly. I said Duck. You know, that bird you're always dragging along with you. Don't you remember? It used to be a girl you loved." Fakir stared at her blankly. Duck… The name, or word, stirred something within him. But, he couldn't recall the memories of any girl. Just a duck. Fakir didn't understand. Memories, he knew, were supposed to be there and they were but… he didn't know how to access them.

"I… I don't…" Fakir's voice trailed off as he struggled to remember this girl. But, for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't.

"You mean you don't remember?" Kraehe interjected. "No wonder you're so bitter. The only person that even so much as show compassion to you, you can't even remember. How sad." Kraehe stood up from her position on the floor and faced Fakir once more. "Tell me, Fakir, what do you know of Princess Tutu?" Fakir's eyes widened considerably at the name.

"Princess Tutu?" he repeated, losing all his anger as those two words seemed to be a key to the locked memories he was holding in and they all came rushing back to him in an array of colors and monochromes. And, one face stood out beyond the rest. One single, solitary face. And it wasn't even the face of Princess Tutu but, rather, of Duck. "Duck," he whispered, a few tears gathering in the corners of his green eyes as he remembered the forgotten girl. But, she was no longer a girl, just a bird that followed him around and swam in the pond. Just an animal. Kraehe let loose a dreamy sigh.

"Ah, so you do remember. How interesting. Most people believe the adventure is getting your memories back. But I happen to know that the real story is what you do with them."

Fakir said nothing, too enveloped with the cherished moments of his lost past. So, Kraehe continued.

"She never did love you, did she? At least, not in the same way you loved her or the way she loved Mytho. That's it, isn't it? She was too preoccupied with Mytho to even notice you." Fakir squeezed hid eyes shut, giving small, hiccupped gasps.

"Be quiet. You know not of what you speak."

"Oh, but I do, Fakir. It was by her feelings for Mytho that she was able to turn human. Then why did her love for you not prove strong enough for her to sustain human life?"

"It was by Mytho's heart and feelings that she turned human, not hers. The pendant she wore consisted solely of Mytho's heart shard. With it gone, she turned back into… a duck," Fakir explained quietly.

"Perhaps," Kraehe mused for a moment. "But she also had to have the resolve to become Princess Tutu. And Princess Tutu loves the prince and sacrifices her life for him as such. Not for some selfish knight." Fakir clutched at his chest, the spot where his heart beat painfully.

"Enough!" he hissed. "I've had it with your useless prattling." Kraehe scoffed a small laugh.

"You will not think it so useless later, Fakir. It would be best if heeded my words with caution." She paused for a minute, just grew silent long enough for Fakir to open his eyes once more to see if she still remained. She did.

"What do you want?" he asked her sharply. She ignored his question and asked one of her own.

"What would you do if Duck could become a girl again?" Fakir gaped at her.

"What do you mean? Are you saying it's possible? Do you know of a way?" Kraehe tilted her head to the left slightly, carefully observing his reaction.

"I do," she answered simply. "The question is, what would you be willing to sacrifice for it to happen?" Eager with her offer, Fakir spoke too soon.

"Anything," he said quietly.

"Really? Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Then it shall come easy for you." Kraehe paused, contemplating Fakir for a moment and said, "You know, you really are completely different from Mytho, Fakir. He would give anything to protect others. You would give away anything just to get what you want. Selfish. I wonder if that's what separates a hero from a villain." Fakir's temper quickly returned to him as he slapped Kraehe's cheek with the back of his hand.

"Enough of this!" he snapped. Kraehe covered her cheek with her hand, glaring at him forcefully.

"As you wish." And, with a flash of purple, Kraehe vanished and Fakir was left alone in the darkness until unconsciousness overtook him.

* * *

Fog covered the grounds of Gold Crown Town Academy in the early morning. The water fountain emitted its constant flow of water, the sound of splashing slightly muted by the overall silence of the surrounding area. Almost everyone slept the morning away. Almost. A few birds twittered, welcoming the invigorating chill of early morning. And there was a figure moving about the grounds, clad in a black cloak as he soundlessly drifted from the boys' dormitories, across the cobblestone plaza, and toward the tall iron gate that guarded the dormitories of the students. With a small heave, he easily pushed one open and slipped to the other side.

The town of Gold Crown was just as quiet. No one was wandering through the streets as he was. All the better for him, he supposed. No one there to catch what he was doing unless someone was purposely following him. Something he seriously doubted for he was a student of indifferent sorts, one that did nothing to attract attention to himself.

His boots clacked loudly against the pavement, the sounds echoing off the shops and stores that cluttered the sides of the street. He paid no mind to this however and quickly hurried on his way, stopping only when he reached the entrance to one shop labeled as "Schmied." _The Smith._ Without as even so much as hesitating to knock, he opened the door and crept inside, disappearing from sight of anyone that might be lurking outside.

Once inside, the dark figure carefully tread his way upstairs. He easily skipped past a step, the one that he knew creaked when weight was applied. He remained quiet, given the exception of his boots clacking on the wooden floorboards. Once he was on the second story, he became careful, slow, cautious, as he took measured steps to a certain doorway, _the_ certain doorway that was his destination: his old bedroom in the smith shop.

Creaking the door open slightly, he paused, holding his breath to make sure he hadn't awoken anyone— before flinging the door open to its full breadth. It barely made a sound as it opened, an oddity for the age of the door and its rusty hinges. He stepped inside and closed the door securely behind him and turned back around, facing the bed positioned in the middle of the room. His eyes focused on the person lying across its sheets, trailing down from the top of her head, down past the small curves of her body, and stopped at a bulge protruding from beneath the blankets that was her feet.

Gently as to not wake her— though he doubted that he could— Fakir strode to the edge of the bed and placed a hand on her cold cheek. It slightly quivered but, otherwise, she did not stir. His thumb stroked the length of her cheekbone tenderly, feeling a burning within his chest as he did so, a longing desire that made his throat hollow. However, despite the feelings of discomfort, he didn't stop his actions and remained in that position for quite some time. Only the sound of the resonating school bell made him budge. It gave off six bellowing chimes, signaling it was six o'clock in the morning. On the last one, the girl's eyes slowly lifted opened and revealed the empty blue orbs within her sockets. She blinked slowly, unsurprised that her caretaker was hovering above her.

"Fakir?" came her light and airy voice, devoid of any emotion. Fakir stared at her, feeling a prick in the back of his eyes. But, nothing happened. His indifferent composure did not change and showed no sign of frivolous emotions. Instead, he turned away from her penetrating gaze.

"It's time to get ready for school," was all he said to her, before he removed his hand and quickly swept out of the room, leaving her alone so she could dress herself.

Meanwhile, across the town and back to the silent dormitories, a studying ballerina was preparing herself for the day's activities, methodically putting on her school uniform. Her ballet clothes were in the girl's locker room at the dance studio. On this particular morning, she wanted to get there early so she could have some time to practice for a bit and prepare for the next upcoming performance.

She left the dormitories and made her way through the town and towards the Academy, her arm wrapped tightly around her books as her silky, raven-black hair blew in the morning's breeze. She hurried on her way, not wanting to lose the studio to anyone else who might get the idea of an early morning practice. Within a few minutes of traversing the town, the girl finally made it to the Academy's campus and then to the dance building, first going to the locker room.

She deposited her books in the appropriate cubby and exchanged them for her practice clothes. She changed quickly, fixing her black hair up into a bun, and threw her school uniform into her cubby. And left the room with a small towel, heading towards the main lesson room. Once she was there, she saw, to her immense satisfaction, that it was empty. She went to the self-playing piano in the corner of the room and turned it on. It began playing a soft melody that started our with a tinkling celesta part and then was accompanied by an answering bass clarinet part.

The girl then went to a section of the ballet bar that surrounded the room and began practicing her warm-ups. First, she stretched her legs, feeling the tight muscles strain themselves in the demanding exercise. She stayed poised in the position for a few moments, welcoming the fullest extent of the stretch, and then exhaled, loosening herself as she felt her calves and thighs slightly burn. Then, her arms received the next attention as she stretched one arm out before her, gripping the rail for balance with the other.

Rue, for that was her name, continued in this manner for some minutes until she was appeased that her muscles had all been stretched properly. She left the practice bar in favor for the middle of the room so she could practice her pirouetting. She held her hands at waist level and then began spinning across the room, turning first slowly and then building up speed. She would halt herself suddenly and then, with a thrust of her leg, would send herself twirling in the opposite direction. She continued this for several more turns and then stopped, raising her arms up, and began pirouetting in the same spot. Once she had accomplished that, she allowed herself to dance in rhythm to the music that was playing on the piano.

With her eyes closed, she felt her arms and legs glide to a self-composed choreography. In that moment, as she twisted and turned, and stretched and swayed, Rue felt herself caught in the moment, felt herself floating across the dance floor. She felt beautiful, graceful even, as sweat beaded across her forehead and other crevices of her body. She pretended that her surroundings had transformed, that she was not performing solitary but with a male partner and in front of many awed spectators. They were cheering for her, clapping for her, offering her confessions of unconditional admiration. They were tossing roses to her as she danced across the stage…

"Ahem."

And suddenly, her concentration was broken. She stopped immediately, opening her eyes as she was careful not to lose her balance. The music played quietly in the background, no longer the loud wave of sound she had imagined moments before. Rue felt herself become irritated at the interruption and turned abruptly to the one that had dared to do so. However, her anger suddenly evaporated away when she saw it was Mr. Cat, along with two people standing behind him. The light that poured in the room from the vast windows was brighter than she remembered, leading Rue to think she had been there for quite some time.

"Mr. Cat?" she said tentatively.

"Miss Rue," he began. "It delights me to no end to see you've been practicing so arduously in the early hours of the morning. As such, I regret interrupting to inform you that we have a new student." Mr. Cat turned his body slightly to allow Rue to see who was behind him.

The tallest figure was one of her old classmates, Fakir, who was standing there with a scowl plastered on his face, as usual. Rue transferred her gaze to the small girl standing shyly beside him. A girl with orange-red hair and a wide face that contained wide blue eyes. She stood with her hands folded together and her face tilted toward the floor.

"I would like you to meet our newest student to the Dance Academy, Miss Duck. Miss Duck, this is Miss Rue, our top student here at the Dance Academy." Duck lifted her face to look up at Rue with her vacant gaze.

"Your dancing is beautiful," she said in a blank voice. Rue was taken aback. For some inexplicable reason, the girl seemed vaguely familiar to her but, only vaguely. There was something about Duck that made her seem alien than what Rue would originally expect. She couldn't exactly explain it but Duck seemed, so unusually, lifeless.

"Thank you," Rue said softly.

"I wish I could dance just as beautifully," she said. Mr. Cat interjected.

"And here at the Academy, you may do just that! As long as you work hard, practice, and, above all, apply yourself to the art. I had a student, not too long ago, who was a very ambitious girl but she never succeeded because she never applied herself. Although, now that I look back on it, I can't place the name nor face of that particular girl…"

Rue watched as Fakir quickly flickered his gaze from Mr. Cat, to Duck, and then, quite abruptly to the floor upon hearing Mr. Cat's words. Rue thought it odd and looked back at Duck again. This time, something cold and sinister stirred within her. Why was this Duck girl so timid and quiet? It was unnatural, even if she was just a shy girl. And how was she connected with Fakir? Fakir wasn't connected to anyone. He always kept to himself and no one bothered him due to his severe and— often rumored— violent manner.

"How do you know Fakir, Miss Duck?" Fakir cut across.

"Friend of the family," he said quickly. "I've always taken care of her." Rue whipped her head to Fakir.

"I don't believe I was asking you," she snarled to him under her breath so as to not be heard by Mr. Cat.

"We shall get you started right away, Miss Duck. Miss Rue here is part of the Advanced Class, restricted to five students. You will be starting out in the Beginning Class and as long you do your best, you won't be dropped to the Probationary Class. Am I understood?" asked Mr. Cat.

"Yes, sir," said Duck.

"Good, very good then."

"Mr. Cat," said Rue. "Since Duck is a new student and all, I wouldn't mind sharing my dorm with her. That way, not only does she share a room with me but I can help her with settling in."

"The master suite?" said Mr. Cat. "What a splendid idea!"

"That won't be necessary," Fakir interrupted. "She's staying at my house in town."

"Nonsense, Mr. Fakir!" Mr. Cat exclaimed. "Every Academy student needs their own dormitory." Rue watched Fakir clench his teeth with a small growl.

"I assure you, Mr. Cat, it is not needed." Rue lashed out, suddenly feeling protective over Duck.

"It is most certainly improper for a young girl such as herself to be left alone with an unwed man of no relation," she pointed out. "And, if I didn't know any better, I would say that you've abused this poor girl senseless! Just look at her eyes and the way she stares! Her timid nature not so much as procuring an original thought." Fakir was glaring at Rue as he protectively placed a hand on Duck's shoulder.

"I've never abused or even so much as lay a single finger on her in violence! She came to me this way, in tattered rags, and I've taken care of her since!"

"That is a very serious accusation, Miss Rue," Mr. Cat said quietly.

"But not a misplaced one," she defended. "Have you not heard of rumors circulating about him? How he sneaks away all the time, how when placed in the wrong mood has the most violent of natures?"

"Rumors are rumors and are not to be taken with such seriousness," said Fakir. Finally, Duck's voice piped up.

"Fakir," she said. "What is abuse?" The three others looked down at her in amazement. Rue answered her quickly.

"Abuse is when he restricts your freedom and tells you what to do all the all."

"Abuse?" Duck's voice trailed off. "Fakir always tells me to do things. Sometimes I don't understand what they mean but he tells me to trust him and I always do. Fakir's never harmed me."

"Well, Miss Duck, Mr. Fakir," said Mr. Cat, "I think it would be best for everyone that Miss Duck stayed with Miss Rue, so as to put out any unnecessary suspicions. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Fakir?" Fakir was only glaring at Rue, seething as his fists were shaking at his sides.

"Yes sir," Fakir managed through his tight lips. And with that, Fakir turned on his heel and exited the room. Before he disappeared, he threw an anxious glance over his shoulder at Duck but his temper collided with his anxiousness his feet continued walking until he was gone from the studio.

Rue only watched the empty space through which he disappeared, an expression of contemplation on her face. Somehow, his story of 'friend of the family' and 'finding her in tattered rags' didn't match up.

* * *

"Here," Rue said, handing her a cone. Duck looked up at the proffered treat.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's ice cream," Rue explained. "My treat." Duck slowly took the ice cream from her and began to lick at the vanilla top. Rue sat down next to her on the park bench. "How was your first day of dancing?" she asked.

"Fine. A bit physically demanding though. I do miss Fakir. Can we go see him, please?" Rue started at the abrupt topic change.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea," Rue said, facing forward. "Don't get me wrong, Miss Duck. I'm just trying to look out for you. I don't know why, but I get the feeling that I know you from somewhere." Duck shrugged.

"I don't remember anything." She continued licking her ice cream. Rue sighed and decided to stop asking her questions for now. It didn't seem to garner her any more information, despite how sure she was that Fakir wasn't right for her.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, eating their frozen dessert. Then, Duck stirred, lifting her head up and her eyes widening in slight surprise.

"Do you hear that?" Duck asked her. Rue only looked around at the serene park. Everything was muted with the babbling sound of daily life.

"Hear what?" she asked. Duck didn't answer her and instead dropped the ice cream cone and bolted away from the bench and toward the tree line of the park's forest. "Wait! Miss Duck, where are you going?" Rue deliberated for a moment before deciding to run after her.

* * *

Fakir was walking through the park's forest, avoiding people but at the same time wanting to roam around. He just couldn't believe that prissy, arrogant know-it-all Rue did this morning. He? Abusive to Duck? It was absurd. He would never do such a thing. Yet, at the same time, he knew Mr. Cat sided with his prima donna, even if he was supposed to be unbiased and not listen to rumors as a teacher. How did those rumors start anyway? The only violent thing he did was slap Mytho around whenever he was angry. And then there was the whole thing of pushing Mytho out of the window, but no one remembered that or anything regarding Mytho.

He paused before a certain overhanging tree and momentarily leaned against its bark. He wanted to see Duck, wanted to make sure she was okay. He didn't trust Rue to completely take care of her.

He heard a rustling from the nearby bushes, and as soon as he shrugged himself off the tree, Duck's form darted from nearby and disappeared through the thick of the forest. Fakir blinked before rushing after her.

"Duck! Duck!" he yelled, trying to get her attention. What was happening _now_?

"Fakir?" she cried, not stopping. Her tone puzzled him. It was filled with… emotion, like the time she had been trapped in Drosselmeyer's clutches and he had set her free.

"Duck? What's going on?" he yelled, trying to catch up to her. Surprisingly, her short legs carried her away faster than he could run.

"Fakir!" she shrieked from farther away. She sounded distressed, and it only made him push harder to catch up.

_She's going to fall_, resounded a soft voice through the forest. It wasn't quite Duck's but older, instead. Like Tutu's.

"Who? Who's going to fall?" Fakir demanded pushing past brambles that scratched his cheek. He felt a small trickle of blood drip down his face.

_She is_.

Fakir broke past the tree line and found himself standing before a wide river that bubbled with strong, swift currents. It would be dangerous if someone fell. And then, he caught sight of Duck perched precariously on a high tree branch, reaching for an injured canary. A black speck distracted his attention, and, when he turned toward it, saw a crow flying off, its talons dripping of canary blood. Fakir focused his attention on Duck.

"No! Duck, don't! You're going to fall!" She was too far and high for him to reach in time. The branch she crawled on was swayed dangerously over the river. Duck paid no mind to his words and continued reaching for the bird. Fakir watched helplessly as started swaying and losing her balance.

"I have to, Fakir," was all Duck said as she fell.

Everything was silently, completed muted as Fakir watched, horrified. He could have turned deaf. All he knew was that Duck was falling and she would surely die.

But then, a bright light appeared from the depth of the forest and began transforming the river into a bed of ice and snow. And then, he realized it was snowing, creating a scene of the ideal winter wonderland. It gave him the strong impression of _Waltz of the Snowflakes_.

Duck fell safely on the blanket of snow. She looked up at an approaching figure that emanated from the bright orb of light. But, the clearing was too brightly lit that Fakir could not see who it was. The figure held out a hand and helped Duck to her feet.

Fakir watched the exchange silently. The other figure, whom he had deduced as male, appeared familiar. It was with great fondness and a stab of jealousy that he recalled his name.

"Mytho."

Everything cleared and Fakir was standing by the river's edge alone with Duck before him. She looked up at him with wide eyes and held out a hand for him to take. He did.

_And so it begins again_, cackled a sinister voice.

* * *

There you are. Tell me what you think. Please review.

**_-NuitSongeur_**


	2. An awry story

**A/N:** And, BEHOLD! Chapter two! This is longer than the first chapter and also has more things happening and another, very important character!

**Warnings:** Post-series, various references to various pairings, and please excuse any typos.

* * *

**Chapter of the Raven  
**_AKT 2: An Awry Story  
_By: Nuit Songeur

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a woman who died. The woman's job was the finding and returning of feelings to a handsome prince. However, once her duty was requited and the prince regained all of his emotions, the woman's purpose had been fulfilled and she could no longer be part of this world she knew and had come to love. Even after she had passed, remnants of her existence still thrived as she left marks on those she left behind. In a desperate attempt to have her back, a young man, in his grief, took the first chance he could to revive her. However, did the woman really return to him? Or rather, was she an empty shell, lost to him forever since he was not her true, original purpose for life?_

* * *

The early morning was foggy and silent with the exception of a few birds chirping and twittering their morning greetings. There was a figure, a girl that walked among the forest who stopped once she reached the bank of the pond. She peered below at the water's surface, seeing her reflection looking back up to her. She smiled at herself, her bright orange hair falling down past her face in wild locks. Without a word, she lightly stepped out on the water's surface, barefoot and clad in a white dress.

She stopped when she reached the middle of the pond. The birds stopped in their chirping to watch her as her arms began to slowly move around. Suddenly, she was dancing, slowly and gracefully. She raised up on her toes, dancing en Pointe barefoot. But, she did the action without trouble, seemingly already mastered the art of ballet. The girl twirled, extending her arms out as she spun and reaching out for her nonexistent partner. But the lack of a companion did not seem to worry her for she was used to this. Subconsciously, she knew he would come soon enough.

She stopped twirling and put one foot in front of the other, toe turned down. She looked ahead and saw a frog peacefully sitting on a lily pad, just a few feet away. She smiled at him, circled her hands above her head and held out her right hand in front of her.

"Hello, Mr. Frog," she said. "Would you like to dance with me today?" The frog stirred, shifting on the lily pad, and croaked. Within moments, the frog's form shifted, first glittering into a cloud of red smoke that stretched out and took the shape of a male. Then, the figure became more definitive and transformed into a brown-haired youth wearing a green velvet ballet costume. He looked down at himself, slightly stunned, and transferred his gaze back to the ballerina's outstretched palm. Cautiously, he took it and began dancing with her.

She let him lead them through the dance and her movements complemented his. He guided her, dancing to music with unknown origins. He danced beautifully, gracefully, but the girl's bones still echoed with an aching, unfilled hollowness.

_Mr. Frog dances wonderfully. He lets his movements be guided by the serene surroundings of the pond. But I fear he is not the dancer for me. My limbs want to dance to a different choreography, they want to bend depending on feeling and emotion I'm experiencing. No, I do not believe he is the partner for me._

She pirouetted into a final pose, the penultimate chord ringing dissonance in the air. Mr. Frog had stopped as well. He took her hand and, dipping his head, kissed it. She smiled at him as he pulled his head back to look at her.

"Thank you for dancing with me, Mr. Frog." He tilted his head and smiled, his brown eyes shining. But then, a sharp wind cut across the pond and everything darkened, turning black beneath a feathery cover. A chorus of cawing pierced the pond's silence. Terrified, Mr. Frog transformed back into a frog and hopped away. The only thing the girl could do was raise her arms protectively in front of her face until the wind died down. She looked around and saw flocks of crows everywhere, sitting in trees, bushes, on the ground. Everywhere except the pond. There, the girl was all by herself. But she stood there, afraid of the sudden appearance of the ravens.

"Crows?" she said to herself, looking around at them. The other animals of the morning had disappeared with their arrival. In front of her, there was another whirlwind of black feathers. She stepped back when a figure began taking shape before her. It was a male. A male that donned the black color of raven feathers.

"Who are you?" she asked him, fear easily displayed over her features.

"I am your partner, the Prince of Ravens—"

"_NO_!" shrieked Fakir, surging out of bed and awakening suddenly. He looked around his bedroom, positioned above Charon's shop, panting and blinking furiously to clear his blurry vision. After he had calmed himself for a few moments, Fakir looked across the room where his desk was. The paper and duck feather quill still lay abandoned for the night. Ink blotches dotted the face of the paper weighted down by an ink well. Without a word, Fakir got out of bed and walked over to the desk to see that the story he had been mindlessly writing out earlier that evening still remained, unfinished.

The story he remembered writing, so similar to his dream, was halted at the first mention of ravens. For some reason, his subconscious decided to build on further, filling in the blank sheets of paper he'd left on his desk. To his surprise when he looked, his handwriting had stopped at the word 'ravens' and didn't continue on like his dream did.

_It was just a dream_, he reminded himself. The candle stump sitting on the edge of the desk was still lit, burning soundlessly in the once-still room and promising Fakir there was nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed and realized he was sweating as his night shirt was sticking uncomfortably to him. He went to the nearby window and opened it in order to cool the room.

A soft breeze blew into the room, instantly chilling his sweaty body. Fakir shivered, rubbing friction into his arms, and briefly looked out onto the cobble-stone streets of Gold Crown Town. The night was quiet and not a single thing stirred below. The picturesque view of the street made Fakir turn away and return to his awaiting bed, uncomfortable with the eerie stillness.

It was a while before sleep was granted to Fakir who was disturbed with the unpleasant dream he just had. And even when he fell to unconsciousness, such thoughts continued to plague him so as he tossed and turned fitfully throughout the night.

The night progressed into the wee hours. Unbeknownst to him, another small breeze entered the room, its gentle tendrils first extinguishing the candle on the desk and throwing the room into darkness. Then, the duck feathered quill was lifted, as if by the wind, and poised perfectly over the unfinished story as it began scratching out the completion of the tale.

* * *

The Gold Crown Town Academy was filtered through a layer of early morning fog. The sound of a few twittering, early morning birds chirped around the morning air. The fountain spewed and sputtered in the plaza of the dormitories. In the master suite of the girl dorms, the two inhabitants sat awake and mostly silent. Every now and again, one would say something to the other but mostly they remained silent for the newest roommate of the suite was a quiet, blank girl. Almost emotionless. Perhaps emotionless.

"Why do you keep me from Fakir, Rue?" Duck asked, sitting on the bed with her knees pulled in close to her chest. She was cradling a yellow pillow, a duck-shaped, yellow pillow. Rue, who had been brushing her hair over by the mirror, paused in her morning duties, setting the wooden hairbrush down, and turned slightly to the sitting girl.

"You're wanting to study ballet?" Rue intervened, asking her own question. She watched through the mirror as Duck transferred her gaze downward as she responded.

"Yes, I believe so. I don't feel very many things but Fakir says I like to dance." Almost angrily, Rue spun around to face Duck. Yet, her words did not evince any anger that her sudden actions suggested.

"Don't listen to Fakir about such things; he's not here to control you any more. You can make your own decisions now, with me. Now, tell me what it is _you_ want." Duck looked back up to Rue again but her eyes were unfocused, her mind lost in her myriad train of thought.

"I think so. Yesterday, when I practiced for the first time, it felt… familiar, somehow. My arms and legs seemed to recognize the movements, even if only slightly. I felt… a hollowness in my bones that longed to echo the movements that I watched you do. But I can't physically do that, yet at least. Maybe if I practice enough, I'll be able to in the future. But that feeling— that hollowness— I don't know what that is. Do you, Rue? Fakir says it will come to me in time." Rue crossed the room to her, placing a hand on Duck's cheek and staring intently into her eyes.

"Fakir doesn't know what he's saying. You're eager to learn ballet— that's all. Come on, the sooner we get ready, the sooner you'll be able to practice and get better." Duck nodded and stood up from the bed. Rue went to retrieve a school uniform for her and Duck silently put on the uniform she was handed. Within a few short minutes, Duck was dressed. She turned away from Rue, heading toward the door. Rue watched her but, upon noticing the state of Duck's hair, stopped her with a surprised exclamation.

"Wait!" Duck froze in her footsteps, turning her head slightly back to Rue.

"Yes, Rue? What is it?" Rue came to her, closing the small distance between them. She took the tip of Duck's braid between two fingers and examined the messy and knotted locks disapprovingly. She clucked her tongue.

"Who did your hair like this?"

"Fakir usually fixes my hair. He tries very hard to put it into a braid. He says I used to wear my hair like that." Rue shook her head.

"Fakir doesn't know what he's doing," she said. "There is no way in all of Gold Crown Town you would have allowed yourself to walk outside with your hair looking like that. Go sit over there by the vanity mirror." Duck did as she was told and Rue set to work. First, she started on the extensive job of unknotting the braid, picking at the woven locks with meticulous fingers. Moving swiftly and carefully, Rue was able to loosen Duck's hair within a few short minutes. Her next, more complicated task was brushing through the long, orange hair. She grabbed the wooden brush sitting on the dresser that she had previously used on her own and began pulling it through Duck's with rapid and jerking motions. Duck, who had been silent when Rue had undone her braid, now squirmed slightly in her chair, periodically emitting squeaks or small gasps of pain.

Rue continued to mercilessly attack Duck's hair despite her protests of discomfort. Eventually, the orange hair had been brushed thoroughly without any sign of a tangle or knot. She then began to intricately weave Duck's hair back into a braid, starting from the scalp and working her way to the bottom. She left a few strands of hair loose at the top since it naturally fell down to frame her face. When all but a small tuft of hair was left at the bottom, Rue tied it with a hair band. She stepped back to examine her work and saw, with a small tinge of familiarity, that when properly braided, Duck's long hair fell past her knees. It _was_ pretty long.

"Your hair is quite long," Rue noted. "Maybe you should have it cut," she suggested. Duck turned to face her, taking the tip of her own braid between her fingers for consideration.

"Do you think it would be more convenient for me to do so?" she asked. "That it would be best?" Rue only shrugged.

"It's whatever you want to do." Duck only stared, looking lost in her vacant gaze. Impatiently, Rue pursed her lips. "Come on, let's go. You don't want to be late." Duck nodded and followed her out of the suite.

Meanwhile, across the plaza, a princely figure was watching the quiet streets below from the master suite of the boy dorms. He surveyed the empty courtyard with a placid expression, waiting and studying. Soon, he caught sight of two girls leaving the other building and heading towards the Fire Arts Academy. One, the taller one, walked with a grace unknown to her time, her lavish locks of raven-black hair swaying with a slight breeze. Obviously the works of a prima donna. His perhaps? The other one was a smaller, still somewhat undeveloped creature. Her blank expression struck a familiar chord within him, but he dismissed it as he analyzed her face.

"Tutu," came his soft whisper.

Another boy was quickly rushing towards his house. Some late-night research at the school library caused him to fall asleep over the book he had been reading. When the alarm on his watch alerted him that it was six in the morning, the bespectacled boy had jumped up and gathered all the books around him. Why he had fallen asleep, he had no idea. Even with late-night research, he'd always managed to leave just after midnight, no later. Besides, he didn't expect that the librarian could be too pleased that he'd spent the night there. It was odd, very odd.

And, just what exactly was he researching, anyway? He didn't have any sort of begrudging literature or history assignment to contend with. Why could he not remember? He felt that it was very important, extremely crucial. He looked down at the book he was carrying. _German Authors after the Nineteenth Century_. That didn't make sense, so he stopped rushing for a moment and thumbed his way to a bookmarked page. Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he scanned down the list of names until one particular one caught his attention.

_Drosselmeyer_.

Drosselmeyer? But that didn't make any—

And then he had bumped into someone.

"Excuse me?" demanded a stiff, feminine voice. Autor stumbled back and glanced up to apologize.

"My apologies, Miss—" Autor gaped at the woman before him.

"Rue," she said for him.

"Yes, I know," he responded, gathering the askew stack of books into his chest. "You were… You were here yesterday," Autor realized aloud, recalling that he had seen her in the ballet practice room. Rue gave him a quizzical look.

"Of course I was. I attend the Academy just like you every day."

"What about the story with Mytho—"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she dismissed softly. "And, quite frankly, you're beginning to get on my nerves. Come on, Duck." Rue pushed past him, another girl in tow.

"Duck?" Autor repeated, prepared to hold his nose. "Who—?" Then he caught sight of the orange hair, and the memories came flooding back to him. He glanced at the book in his hand and remembered his topic of research. Rue wasn't supposed to be here, not now, not yesterday. The story had ended…

Something had gone wrong.

Then, the chiming of the seven o'clock bell reminded him to hurry on his way.

* * *

"Now, class," Mr. Cat said, clapping his hands together. "In addition our newest student, Miss Duck, we now have a transfer student. I'd like to welcome, Mr. Siegfried!" The students who all sat on the floor gave a polite applause to the new boy standing before them. Fakir could only stare numbly. It was… Mytho. But what was he doing here? As Mytho took his seat among the other students, Fakir could only think, _What have I done?_

Rue was still clinging to Duck ever so protectively, wit her arm draped around the smaller girl's shoulders. It made Fakir's fists clench as he watched so helplessly close by. He barely paid attention in the next few minutes as Mr. Cat prattled on about weekly performance tests and called upon someone to do theirs first.

"Hello, Fakir," Mytho issued under his breath. Fakir glanced sideways to see the prince sitting next to him.

"You… you remember?"

"Of course."

"What are you doing here, Mytho?" What happened to your story? And, Rue—"

"Please, call me Siegfried. And I have some questions for you as well. We'll talk later."

"Please, boys," Mr. Cat called out to them. "Remain silent while others are performing their weekly placement test."

"Yes, sir." Fakir turned to see who was performing now and saw, to his annoyance, it was Rue. Upon this realization, Fakir felt a hand brush against his and looked down to see that Duck had scooted her way next to him. Fakir gently squeezed her hand back.

"Rue thinks I should get my hair cut," she told him quietly. Fakir's eyes widened at the suggestion.

"Absolutely not," he told her stiffly. "You hair is fine the way it is."

"Ahem, Mr. Fakir," Mr. Cat warned, clearing his throat. Fakir's mouth tightened into a thin line, his eyes forced onto Rue's slim figure. She _was_ a good dancer, Fakir had to give her that.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Mytho whispered under his breath. Fakir glanced at him, wondering at the longing in his voice. Mytho's golden eyes appeared lost to some distant memory, so Fakir didn't respond. Otherwise, he would have disagreed.

"I think she is," said Duck who was watching attentively. Fakir scoffed.

"Well, _I_ don't."

"Mr. Fakir, please don't make me call you out again," Mr. Cat said sharply. Fakir's shoulder's slumped.

When Rue's performance was finished, she demanded that Duck sit with her. So, Fakir was once again left alone with Mytho who sat silently for the rest of the class without another word. Fakir had so many questions for him and couldn't wait to get him alone to ask him. With Mytho here, he didn't feel quite so alone since he wasn't the only one to share the memories of all that happened before.

"You seem surprised to see me, Fakir," he said once their class had been dismissed and they were strolling back to the dormitories.

"Given the circumstances, I don't think it's not understandable." Mytho gave a rue smile.

"Everything was fine. Rue was happy, content even. At least, I thought so. And then, one day she disappeared. I came back here to look for her. I found her, of course. But now, she acts as if none of it has ever happened. Like she doesn't even remember me." Fakir empathized in his own characteristic way.

"She had it all— the ideal life. A fairytale, what any girl would want. You'd think that she could be a little more grateful to you for choosing her as your queen." Mytho stopped walking.

"I don't think that's it. I think that there's something else. But what about you? What happened to Duck?" It was Fakir's turn to look away.

"I… I tried writing her a story, tried turning her back human. Then this happened. I don't know what I did exactly. It's almost like you, when you were heartless. It's like _she's_ become the heartless one this time." Fakir looked back up to meet Mytho's gaze. He seemed to be thinking deeply about something.

"I don't think she's… heartless. Even without a heart, she would stay in her true form as a duck. I think she's… almost like she's suspended in time. Like, she can't do anything until something cataclysmic happens."

"What could that be?"

"I don't know—"

"Excuse me, Fakir," said a voice from behind. He turned to see Rue approaching, Duck following her.

"What? What is it?" he snapped, annoyed. Rue crossed her arms.

"I would like an apology for your behavior earlier," she told him, her nose upturned slightly. Fakir grit his teeth and raised an eyebrow.

"For what, exactly?"

"You were talking during my performance. It was quite rude."

"You were dancing during my conversation. I'd say that was quite rude of you." Rue gave a noise of disgust.

"I shouldn't expect any different from you."

"Excuse me," Mytho said, moving past Fakir to Rue. "What Fakir means is that he's very sorry for speaking during your dance, and he promises not to do it again." Fakir merely crossed his arms and watched Mytho carefully. "I'm Siegfried, by the way," he said, holding out a hand. Rue looked at the outstretched hand curiously but did nothing with it.

"Yes, I know. You were introduced to the class."

"Might I say that your performance was quite exquisite. Are you in need of a partner?" Fakir noticed Rue blushing as Mytho drew back his hand.

"You're quite forward," she said. Her tone sounded uncertain, as if unsure of what to make of him. "What makes you think you're worthy of dancing with me?"

"I guess the only way to prove that to you is to show you." Rue thought for a moment and then smiled. Though, Fakir could have sworn it looked like a smirk. Perhaps she was flirting back with Mytho.

"Meet me tomorrow morning at six in the Advanced Practice Room, and you shall prove your worth there." Mytho smiled back.

"I would be delighted." Fakir felt as though he could have been sick. Rue turned back around to her shadow-like companion.

"Come on, Duck, let's—" She stopped, and Fakir peered around Mytho to see why.

Duck wasn't there.

Anger suddenly flashed through Fakir. He felt as though he could have grabbed Rue, shook, and then slapped her. However, he managed to refrain himself by clenching his violently shaking fists. He could get angry with Rue later; finding Duck was more important.

"Duck? Duck!" he called, looking around wildly.

"She was just here… Where could she have gone?" Rue said timidly. Fakir turned to her angrily.

"So much for taking care of her," he snapped at her through clenched teeth. "She's managed to run off twice in the past few days under _your_ watch."

"Maybe because she was trying to get a way from you," Rue mumbled under her breath. Fakir lunged at her but was cut short by Mytho jumping in between them.

"This is no time to fight. Right now, we have to focus on finding your friend." Fakir straightened up and nodded curtly at Mytho's words. Without another look at Rue, he darted off toward town, calling Duck's name.

* * *

"Can you help me?" Duck asked him. Autor gave a small jump and turned around to see her standing quite close to him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, confused.

"Fakir's in trouble and I can't help him. Can you help me?" Her inflectionless voice slightly concerned Autor. But, Fakir was in trouble?

"Does it involve the Story, again?" Duck nodded. He watched her carefully, studying her features as she reached toward him. Autor slightly flinched back but it didn't stop her advance as she took his hand.

"You helped him before. Will you help him again, please?" Her voice, so impassive and detached, still sounded heartbreakingly tragic. How could he refuse her wide, pleading eyes?

"_How_ can I help?" he asked, somewhat uncomfortably. There was still the matter of what she expected of him. She tugged lightly at his hand. The physical contact made him blush and he wanted to pull away from her grasp so desperately.

"You know stories. Fakir started another story."

"He started another story?" Autor felt stunned, almost betrayed.

"He's in trouble. The Raven… The Raven is after him."

"But, how can that be? The Raven is dead. Prince Mytho slew him." She tugged at his hand again.

"Please help Fakir," she repeated, almost impatiently. Autor sighed. She seemed anxious, as if not wanting to stay where they were at, which was right outside the Music Building.

"I suppose I'll see what I can do. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to defeat the Raven—" saying that the evil entity existed sounded false even to his ears. He wasn't sure if he believed it. "—but I'll take a look at Fakir's story."

"Thank you, Autor. Can we go to your house?" He turned beet red at the suggestion.

"Wha-_What_?" he stammered, trying to remain calm.

"I'm staying with Rue, and boys aren't allowed in the girls dorm."

"Oh," he said. "I suppose that makes sense. Shouldn't we go look at Fakir's story, first?"

Duck only nodded.

* * *

Fakir flew by the house without a thought. It was only until he was halfway down the street did he pause and look back. It seemed rather unlikely but it was worth a try at least. As he slowly ambled back to the house, Fakir wondered if _he_ remembered, if Autor remembered anything. His knock on the wooden door was loud and deliberate and was answered within a few seconds. The bespectacled boy opened his front door enough to where a sliver of his face peered through a crack.

"Autor!" Fakir exclaimed anxiously. "Have you seen Duck anywhere?" Autor opened his door enough to where Fakir could see the full body standing before him.

"She came by earlier, asking for my help," he said. The slightly pinched voice reminded Fakir of the time he had spent here, when they were defeating the Raven and Drosselmeyer.

"So… so you remember her? You remember everything that happened?" Autor crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"Of course I do," he sniffed. "I'm still sore from tackling that Bookman into the front door. I purchased this new one not too long ago." He rapped his knuckles on the wood.

"Duck was here?" Fakir repeated. "Do you know where she's at now?" Autor shrugged his shoulders.

"She seemed pretty worried, and she's changed quite a bit from what I remember of her."

"She asked you for help?" Fakir asked, stunned upon remembering what Autor had first said.

"She's concerned for you and about some story she said you were writing." Fakir blinked.

"My story?"

"She said the Raven was coming back," Autor said, dipping his head forward a bit to better analyze Fakir's reacttion.

"The Raven? But that can't… Mytho defeated him." Autor shrugged.

"It didn't make much sense to me either, but I told her that I would help her."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know, Fakir. She ran off somewhere," Autor explained patiently. "What's this story about? What have you been writing?" Fakir was taken aback by the slight accusatory tone in Autor's voice.

"Nothing. It's none of your concern," Fakir dismissed.

"It is my concern if it affects the whole town again. You were supposed to be finishing Drosselmeyer's story, not start your own. You know how dangerous that power is, Fakir." Fakir's temper flickered.

"I _have_ been finishing Drosselmeyer's story. And so I started writing one story— _one_ story. What is that to you? I'm not trying to control the entire town. Didn't you say once how you wished you had the power to make your own stories into reality?"

"That's not the point, Fakir," Autor said, getting closer. "You're tampering with something dangerous. Can you not see it? Rue's back, Duck's now a girl who's completely… inflectionless. Do you not see it? You're not making your own story; you're picking Drosselmeyer's up again—" With a fist clenched, Fakir backed a step away, preventing himself from shoving Autor.

"I didn't finish it, okay?" he said through tight lips. "I know what I'm doing. Don't preach to me, Autor." He sighed. "Let me know if you if you see Duck again." Fakir turned on his heel and hurried away.

"Fakir!" Autor called out to him, but he was already gone. Autor sighed, pushing his glasses up his face and turned back to the house. Duck appeared from nearby.

"Fakir…" she said mournfully.

"I've done everything I can," Autor told. "I just tried reasoning with logically, but he won't listen. I'm afraid I can't do much else." Duck gave him a faint but encouraging smile.

"I think that there's more you can do," she told him. Autor only gazed down at her dubiously.

* * *

Rue had searched anxiously all over town. But there had been no sign of Duck anywhere, so she dismally returned to her room at the girl dormitory. Duck had only stayed there for one night, and yet the master suit felt so lonely. Or lonelier. As she slipped her shoes off, Rue thought back to Fakir's hurtful words from earlier.

"Fakir doesn't know what he's talking about," she said, falling heavily on the bed. "I _can_ take care of Duck."

_You can't take care of anything._

Rue shot up out of bed.

_Not even yourself_.

"That's not true!" Rue defended, yelling out to the silent room.

_You're so helpless, it's pitiful, pathetic even._ Rue anxiously looked around the room, but she could not detect the source of the rumbling voice, the all too familiar voice. She heard the slight scraping of glass and turned to see a crow pecking at her window.

"Go away!" she told it. The pecks grew more incessant.

_It shall begin tomorrow morning with the prince_.

"Tomorrow morning?" Rue repeated weakly.

_You can't do anything without me, and you know it._ The crow disappeared in a cloud of dark feathers.

* * *

His conversation with Autor troubled Fakir. Autor seemed determined that the Raven was coming back. But that couldn't be right; the Raven was a character of Drosselmeyer's invention. Since _he _was writing the story, the Raven couldn't come back because it wasn't his character. Besides, Mytho had defeated the Raven…

Fakir wasn't able to find Duck anywhere. He searched the entire town in every crook, crevice, and tree, but there was no sign of her. It worried Fakir, made him anxious and stressed. What if she managed to get herself in trouble again? What if she was in danger? He was helpless to defend her. As he passed the dormitories for what seemed like the millionth time, he saw Rue returning to her room. He scoffed at her uselessness. As if she cared for Duck when she gave up on her so easily.

But why couldn't he find her? Why would she go to Autor? What did Autor ever do for her, except treat her contemptuously? Maybe Autor was lying, and she was still with him. Everyone seemed to want to take care of her lately.

The idea that Duck was hiding from him hurt. But the thought that she was hiding from him with Autor hurt even more.

He pushed the jealousy aside and tried focusing on something more logical. Duck was worried about the Raven, and if the Raven was coming back, Rue above anyone else would have something to do with it. Duck _had _been with Rue for the past few days. Maybe Duck had seen something, and Rue had taken her because of a plot with the Raven. Perhaps Rue's "searching" was a ruse.

By the time Fakir had deduced that much, he had physically exhausted himself to the point where he was shaking and near to collapsing. He wanted to desperately demand Rue what was going on, but his face found the road's cobblestone pavement before his foot could take another step.

"What… what is wrong with me?" he mumbled before his heavy eyelids subdued him. His mind went blank, and his thoughts were numb, buzzing things, incoherent even to him. It seemed hours until he was stirred.

"Fakir? Fakir!" Someone was shaking his shoulder. Blearily, he blinked, trying to discern the figure hovering over him.

"Wha…" came his disjointed mumble. The figure straightened up as he became more definitive.

"You're going to have to stand up. I won't be able to support all of your weight." Without thinking about what he was doing, Fakir somehow managed to get on his feet. It was an unsteady movement, however, that sent him lurching forward. But, before he fell on his face again, a firm hand reached out and grabbed him. Fakir weakly looked up at the companion.

"Autor…" he said, rasping out the name. Autor didn't look down at him as he lugged Fakir to Charon's house.

"What happened to you Fakir?" he asked. "I don't believe I've seen you in such bad shape since the Tree incident."

"I… was… looking… for Duck," he managed to stammer. Autor sighed.

"All night?"

That was a stupid question, so Fakir didn't bother to answer. Autor sighed, again. Fakir was starting to become annoyed with all the sighing.

"It's nearly six o'clock in the morning," Autor said. "I hope you don't plan on attending class today—" Fakir paused and stopped moving, making Autor halt in his steps.

"What time did you say it was?"

"It's five-something." He consulted his watch. "It's five forty-eight, to be exact." Fakir remembered something from a conversation from yesterday. In the Advanced Practice Room.

"Mytho," he whispered under his breath. Kraehe wouldn't spare him. "I have to go to the Academy." Autor looked stunned.

"What? In the condition you're in? You wouldn't make it to the front door." Fakir grit his teeth in annoyance. Autor was so oblivious sometimes.

"If the Raven is coming back, like you really said it was, then I _have _to go to the Academy." Autor studied him closely, and for a moment, Fakir wondered if he even really believed in the Raven's resurrection.

"The fact still remains that you're physically unable to do—" Fakir shoved himself off of Autor with his remaining strength. It wasn't much, but after he had passed out last night, some energy had managed returned to him.

"I'm fine," he grunted. Autor was unconvinced.

"Fakir, I really don't think—"

"I'm _fine_," he repeated. Without waiting for another response from Autor, Fakir managed to force his legs to run— albeit not very fast— in the direction of the Fine Arts Academy.

Rue still had the Raven's blood flowing through her veins, as did Mytho. Was that it? Was that how Kraehe planned to bring the Raven back?

It seemed to take Fakir an excruciatingly long time to reach the Dance Building. Nevertheless, he heard Autor chasing after him, so he must have been running faster than he originally thought. That, or Autor was extremely out of shape. As he ran, Fakir anxiously glanced all around him but saw no sign of Mytho. Where would he be? Was he already there?

As he heard the town bell chime six times, Fakir was just reaching the door to the Advanced Practice Room. His heartbeat quickened; he hoped he wasn't too late, while he flung the doors wide open.

The next few moments were indescribable, even to him, a writer that could usually describe so eloquently. The only thing he could discern was his body erupting in small tremors and an ethereal, seductive whisper in his ear.

_My prince, you belong to me. For I am your princess_.

The words didn't make sense to him. He wasn't any prince. All he knew was that he hated that voice, more so its owner even though he could not exactly place its identity for the moment.

"Fakir?" This was Autor.

"Fakir!" This was… Duck. Had he found her?

"Fakir?" This was a snarl, a snarl of Kraehe. She had been taken by surprise. Obviously, she had not been expecting him. Fakir tried blinking, even though he was not conscious of sight. But then, he felt the pain, searing across his right wrist. It wasn't agonizing, just enough to make him beyond uncomfortable. It was when he was aware of that feeling that he could become aware of his other senses. He saw Kraehe in her nest of raven feathers that had overrun the practice room. And he also saw Autor, but standing beside him was Duck, her eyes shining.

He knew, subconsciously, that she had been set free. But he wondered if the price for it was his imprisonment.

* * *

Whew! There we are! I hope you enjoyed this latest installment! Please review!

**_-NuitSongeur_**


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